


Ghost

by penvision



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Carol loves being a mom, F/F, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, momma Carol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-01-07 12:44:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18410915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penvision/pseuds/penvision
Summary: 1. Vers is haunted, not by a ghost, but by its absence.2. Carol doesn't remember Maria, but she knows her.3. Carol collects her memories, one by one(Now angst with a happy ending)





	1. Chapter 1

Vers wakes with a start, the distorted, familiar dream raw in her mind. But it is not the images that she can still see on the backs of her eyelids that haunt her. It is the ghost of an arm draped around her waist. A chest pressed against her back. The sensation, not of the heat of another body warming her; but of it’s stark absence. Something in her subconscious tries to push through the memory of the dream. A teasing voice. Steady fingertips. Gentle brown eyes. The softness of it feels like home, and Vers grasps at the invisible strands desperately. But each one is gone before it can fully form, and she is left in the harsh bright light, the dry chill of her room.

Her body rejects the bed beneath it; too firm, too rough, rejects the room that she has never felt at ease in, and she is in the hall with her next breath. Her feet leading her to someplace that she instinctively knows they will not find. To a door that she knows does not exist. Not here.

A door opens down the hall and a couple steps out. They are affectionate; smiling at each other, touching each other’s arms, talking softly. Vers’ chest aches at the sight of them, tightens as she takes in each detail. She knows that she has never had that love, but it is somehow so intimately familiar.

A little girl appears between them, bouncing on her heels with excitement, and they shift from a couple to a family. Vers’ breath rushes out of her lungs. ‘Family.’ The word echoes in her head. It takes all of her strength not to clutch her stomach, not to sag against the wall, not to claw at the ache; now raw, blistering, in her chest, over her fractured heart. She has no strength left to stop the tear. The sensation of small arms wrapped around her waist is agony. She closes her eyes against it, against the girl hugging one of her parents; against their laughs and giggles, as another set of brown eyes, smaller, more mischievous than the first, haunts her mind.

Vers tells Yon-Rogg everything. But she does not tell him about this. About how she is weighed down with longing at the sight of each and every little girl. About how she only sleeps on the right side of her bed; as though the left is reserved for someone else. About the breath she feels behind her ear, against her neck as she drifts off.

So he assumes that it is the dream that has her so rattled, that has her waking him up at dawn. And she does not correct him. Because she trusts him. But she cannot help but feel that he has taken something from her. And she will not let him take this, too.


	2. Chapter 2

Carol's feet slowly lead her along the farmhouse's moonlit hallway, each step intrinsic, familiar, and she lets herself take in the drooping wallpaper; peeling from years of Louisiana humidity, the blue curtains; massive and frilly and no doubt now embarrassingly out of date, Monica's door; covered with photographs and drawings of airplanes. She pauses, brushes her fingers against the doorknob. Tries to swallow away the ache. Pulls herself away and continues down the hall until she is facing an antique pine door. ( _Original to the house, but sanded and re-stained_.) There is no memory attached to this fact, to this door, to each and every part of each and every room. And yet she knows them somehow. Knows them like she knows the pieces of her suit, the scars that pepper her skin. She raps her knuckles against the wood, the knock blending with the summer symphony of cicadas and crickets. 

 

The seconds stretch out in front of her as though weighed down by the thick, humid air. A part of her wonders what would happen if she turned around now; before this conversation happens, before she forces a shift in whatever this fragile thing between them is, and returned to the safety of the guest room, of their precariously balanced friendship. But she knows that that was never really an option. Not for her. 

 

The door groans open to reveal Maria in a faded USAF academy tshirt that Carol's fingers itch to fold themselves in ( _the cotton soft and thin and smelling of Maria_ ). Maria smirks, leans against the doorframe, "this is early even for you, Danvers." She tilts her head, her features softening to a gentle smile as Carol, fidgeting minutely; thumbs circling fingers, lets the silence settle between them. Maria reaches out and steadies her shaking fingers with a warm hand. "I'm here."

 

Carol takes in the hand resting over her own. Takes in the constellations of scars crisscrossing along fingers and knuckles, the callouses that catch against her own skin, the long, sure fingers ( _firm, strong, but so gentle_ ) anchoring her as they curl around her own, give a reassuring squeeze. Carol squeezes back. Meets Maria's eyes. She had had a speech planned. Or an idea of a speech. Or, okay, a few buzz words that she could ramblingly build a speech around. But the words that she had picked out and practiced while staring at the popcorn ceiling ( _that she knew Maria hated_ ) of the guest room seem woefully inadequate now that she is face to face with her ghost. Now that she is looking into those gentle brown eyes that have haunted her for six years. 

 

She tries all the same, but the words catch in her tightening throat, on her drying tongue. The corners of her eyes prickle with moisture and Maria steps closer. Reaches out. Stops herself, her fingers hovering millimeters away from the goose bumped flesh of Carol's bare arms. Carol can feel heat radiating from them. Lets her eyes close, and for an instant she is back in her cold room on Hala. Alone. Haunted. She fearfully snaps them open, "I'm sorry I don't remember. I am so sorry. But I-" She swallows, breathes. Maria waits patiently, her presence anchoring, and Carol collects her scattered thoughts. "I know you."

 

She brushes her thumb over Maria's. "I know your hands are covered in scars from working on plane engines, because you never wear your damn gloves." Maria's lips quirk. "I know you drink your coffee with way too much sugar because you're too stubborn to admit that you like my tea better." That gets her a smile, and Carol's heart skips a little faster. She bites her lip. "I know you like to sleep with the windows open, even in the middle of August." Maria's eyes widen and she opens her mouth to speak but Carol pushes on; "I know you like to sing along with the radio in the car, especially when you don't know the words, I know you like to slow dance in the kitchen, I kn-" her voice cracks, "I know-"

 

It is just like their hug in the yard and, Carol knows, the thousands of hugs that came before it. Her fingers fold into the impossibly soft tshirt as she buries her nose in Maria's neck and breathes her in. She mumbles through hot tears, "I know I loved you."

 

Maria pulls her even closer, "I loved you, too."

 

...

 

Carol groans, tries to blink away the sliver of sunlight that has somehow fallen exactly on her eyelids. The arm draped around her waist tightens and she becomes aware of the warmth of Maria's chest pressed against her back, the puff of her breath tickling her ear, and for the first time that she can remember, Carol does not wake up restless. Maria leaves a sleepy, open mouthed kiss on her neck, "go back to sleep."

 

And she does. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories are italicized

 

 

_Sunlight filters through jade leaves twirling in the wind above her, the soft blue of summer sky shimmering into the spaces formed and swallowed and formed again. She senses the hammock beneath her swaying almost imperceptibly in the humid Louisiana breeze. Looks down to find baby Monica asleep on her chest, safely cocooned in her arms. She brushes a finger against Monica's fist and five teeny tiny fingers instantly wrap around her own, anchoring her to the here and now in the way that she used to think only Maria could. Monica coos and she knows that this is the most precious, most important thing that she has ever held._

 

_She blinks and the sky is tinged with pink and gold and lilac. The hammock bows a little tighter, swings as Maria lithely stretches out beside her, arms raised at just the right angle so that her tank top rides up, revealing toned abs and long stretch marks that her fingers itch to trace. Maria flushes their bodies together, weaves a bare leg in between her own, licks her lips with the tip of her tongue. She traces the lines of Maria's biceps with her eyes, swallows, hard, and Maria smirks, triumphant, into the kiss._

 

_She blinks again and smells ozone, hears the distant rumble of a spring storm. Feels the hammock's threads thinned from wear and time. Watches dark clouds unfurl as they roll over the horizon. Monica, bigger than before but still so, so small, stirs against her side, shifts closer, but does not wake. Maria, tucked into her other side, sighs into her shoulder, kisses the exposed skin. “We should head in.”_

 

_She tilts her chin, finds Maria’s lips once, twice. “Not quite yet.”_

 

...

 

She blinks and Talos is leaning over her, disconnecting circuits and wires from her forehead, her neck, the sensitive skin behind her ear. Carol shoots him the sternest glare that she can muster, exhausted and disoriented as she is, eyes squinted shut to block the harsh white light of the medical bay, "I'm not ready to be done yet."

 

She winces as a familiar headache, somehow both sharp and throbbing, sets in behind her temples, ruining any effect that she was going for, and Talos raises a knowing eyebrow. "Your mind needs a rest. We're overworking it as it is." He yelps as one of the wires arcs in his hand, shocking him with a bolt of blue. He drops it and pops his singed finger into his mouth, "besides," he mumbles around the injured digit, "this new machine can barely keep up."

 

Carol tries to sit up once, twice, lets her head fall back onto the exam table and grits her teeth, "I can't be done."

 

Talos meets her eyes as he rests a comforting hand on her shoulder, "don't worry, your memories will start coming back on their own, soon."

 

She fights back tears, "what if they don't?"

 

"Then we keep using the machine." He hands her a notebook and pen. "But they will."

 

...

 

_They orbit each other. Avenger and Photon. Carol and Maria. Lit by the flickering neon of the jukebox. The yellow headlights of her mustang in the California desert. The disco ball of some hidden San Francisco club. The soft blue glow of the television._

 

_They jump more than dance to the fast and wild song on the bar's worn jukebox; arms above their heads, half finished beer bottles dangling precariously above overdone hair. Maria keeps bumping her hip off beat and she laughs until her cheeks hurt._

 

_They sway, feet barely moving along with the static 60s ballad drifting through the mustang's rolled down windows, her nose tucked into Maria's collarbone, arms wrapped around each other's backs. Maria presses a delicate kiss to her forehead, hums a few bars into her hair, and she pulls Maria closer, holds on tighter._

 

_They circle each other on the parquet dance floor, hands wandering to each other's biceps, shoulders, hips. Clinging so that they do not get separated, pressed closer together by the other bodies crowding the basement club. Surrounded by rainbows and other couples who look just like them. Maria pulls her in by her belt loops and she drapes her arms around Maria's neck, rubs their noses together until Maria laughs, loud and full, and kisses her._

 

_They are on their knees on the living room carpet, and they will both be sore tomorrow, but right now toddler Monica is between them, hopping up and down and stomping her feet and singing gibberish along to the song while they hold hands, arms outstretched around their little girl, and shake their shoulders to the beat. Maria is glowing with happiness and and Monica is wearing Maria's fierce, determined expression as she concentrates and she cannot believe that this is her life._

 

...

 

Carol scribbles her memories down furiously in the newest Lisa Frank notebook Monica had given her; keywords and quotes and the color of Monica's dress and the flavor of Maria's gumbo. She writes as many details as possible, writes until her fingers go numb and her wrist aches. Fills page after page of notebook after notebook.

 

...

 

_She takes in Maria's features, how they change when she smiles. The crinkles around her wide eyes, the fullness of her cheeks, the lightness in her voice. "Lawson said the updates to the prototypes are going to take three months now, instead of two..." She is practically humming with excitement, barely leaning on the hood of her Camaro despite trying to look nonchalant. "So we'd have all summer to fix it up. What do you think?"_

 

_Maria turns to her and envelopes her hand in her own, eyebrows raised expectantly. She is pretty sure that Maria is actually, literally holding her breath. She looks from her girlfriend to the dilapidated farmhouse in front of them. Takes in the gigantic trees shading the blotchy lawn, the definitely precariously leaning barn, the rusted tractor half buried in ancient ruts. Looks back to her girlfriend. "I thought this was your childhood home or something. But you want to buy," she gestures vaguely at the five neglected acres, "this?" Maria smiles wider and she falls in love a little more. "I'm in. On one condition." She kisses Maria's smile, kisses her laugh, kisses her bubbling happiness, "you let me match your down payment."_

 

...

 

"May of 87... No, 86. We spent all summer fixing up this house." Maria looks around. Carol cannot see what she is looking at, but she can picture it; their farmhouse bedroom, decorated with practical furniture, peppered with photos of their friends and family, and clean enough to pass inspection. "You insisted that we do all of the work ourselves instead of letting me hire contractors." Maria laughs and shakes her head.

 

Carol takes in the blue tinted hologram and wishes, like she does every time that they do a call, that she could see Maria in natural light. She jots the date down above her summary of the memory in her notebook, adds Maria's details. "How long did that last?"

 

Maria lets out an exasperated, loving sigh, "until you almost electrocuted yourself installing a light in the bathroom." She smirks.

 

Carol relaxes back into her pillow, grinning, as her mind provides the memory in vivid detail, "you can still see the scorch mark through the paint. Remember when I tried to change the faucet?"

 

"And you didn't know that you had to shut the water off?"

 

...

 

_She startles awake, automatically checks that Maria is safe beside her. Sits up and rubs the remnants of sleep from her eyes. Waits while they adjust to the dark of the bedroom. Maria shifts, sighs, settles. She listens, tries to hear through the din of crickets. There! A cupboard bangs shut. A few seconds after, the refrigerator door creaks._

 

_She pads lightly down the hall, pauses at Monica's open door and takes in her empty bed._

 

_Moves to the kitchen, leans against the doorway, watches silently as Monica struggles to open a box of crackers. "Hey LT."_

 

_Monica jumps, the box slipping from her fingers and hitting the linoleum with a dull thud, "mommy! I'm sorry! I-"_

 

_"Hey, hey, it's okay," she scoops her sniffling daughter into her arms and lifts her chin with her finger, meeting her watery eyes and giving her a reassuring smile, "you didn't do anything wrong."_

 

_Monica tries to swipe away her tears, "I didn't?"_

 

_She shakes her head, "no, sweetheart, but what are you doing up so late?" Monica shrugs. "You hungry?" A nod. She taps her chin, then Monica's, "me too. I think I want... a peanut butter sandwich! But I couldn't possibly eat a whole one by myself! Do you want to split it with me?"_

 

_Monica nods eagerly, "yes!"_

 

_"And a glass of milk?" Another nod. She sets Monica down on the counter and heads for the refrigerator. Pauses at the door and reaches for the cupboard above it, instead, "do you know what goes good with milk?"_

 

_"Oreos!" Monica whisper-yells._

 

_She pulls out the cookies, wriggling her eyebrows, "oreos!"_

 

...

 

The screen door slams shut and Carol jumps up from her chair at the antique oak table, nearly floating off of the floor with anticipation.

 

"Mom! I'm home!" Monica rounds the corner and drops her backpack in surprise, "Auntie Carol!"

 

She is in Carol's arms with her next breath and Carol swallows back the lump in her throat as she hugs her closer, "hey LT. Keeping my jacket safe?"

 

Monica pulls back and laughs, starts to take the jacket off, "yep. Still ketchup free. Your turn to wear it." She goes to hand it over when her eyes fall on the table. Her whole face lights up and Carol is glad that she decided to surprise her daughter with this memory instead of telling her about it over their nightly hologram. "You remembered!"

 

Carol looks back at the two half peanut butter sandwiches, the two tall glasses of milk, and the preposterously tall pile of oreo cookies. "Of course I di-"

 

Monica is back in her arms, and Carol is home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would anyone be interested in me continuing this with chapters similar to this one?


End file.
